PTSD
by yaflithyanimal
Summary: AU. After the first world war, a desperate girl tries to piece together what's left of her husband. PTSD is a long road home.


**So tiny little preface on what you should know . . . I changed their names to Kat (short for Katharine; that might come up later . . .) and Peter. I didn't leave them as Katniss and Peeta, because . . . it's my story and I do what I want. Haha, nah, in reality, I just wanted it to be a little more authentic. Anywho, hope you enjoy! :)**

* * *

As he lay there in the mud, cold seeping through his body, he holds onto her. He will see her again. Her sweet smile – so unlike her usual scowl – just meant for him. This would _not _be where it ends. _I will see her again. I will see her. I will . . ._

* * *

They did tell me he would be different. He was just dragged through Hell and back. They told me he would recover. But they told me he would never be quiet the same. His leg they told me. And the chemical burns. And the shattered state of his mind.

It's hard not to scream at the unfairness of it all.

* * *

I'm jittery and nervous in our home as I prepare to go and collect him. I had cleaned and re-cleaned and cleaned again when I found out he was coming home. Our home had once been cheerful. And then the war. It was a prison. Me and memories locked up in the small rooms.

Pretty white wallpaper, with flowers, started to peel. The green drapes got dusty. The floorboards were dull. I hadn't stepped foot in our bedroom for weeks.

Now everything gleams. I was pleased, it had been hard work. But there was still an intangible feeling of sadness hanging in the air. I tried to ignore it.

I entered our bedroom, shivering. It had been too painful to be in this room. _He _is everywhere; in the paintings on the walls and the clothes in the wardrobe with mine. It even still smelled like him. But he will be here. He will be home.

The tips of my fingers shake.

I brush through my hair. It's not as shiny as he remembers it, I'm sure, but it's still long and dark and pretty. I pin it up. Open the chestnut wardrobe. Hold back tears. _You'll see him soon. It's fine. Be happy. _I pick out his favorite outfit. A blue dress. It's meant to be tight, but I've lost weight. I hope he doesn't notice.

Pull on black gloves, my hand are still trembling. A swipe of lipstick, sprits of perfume – try hard not to remember the night before he left the last time, his nose buried in the crook of my neck, trying to memorize the smell. The ripping feeling when I woke up, and he was gone again.

He'll be back. This time to stay. The war is over.

* * *

It's cold. I pick up my coat, a hat I had gotten for my birthday.

I freeze in front of the mirror. _What will he see? _Dark circles, those can't be avoided; I didn't sleep well without him. Pursed mouth with a slash of red. Body covered by the warm black of my coat. Hint of the sky blue dress he loves. Red flushed cheeks. And a sparkle that had been missing from my eyes for far too long.

Blushing, nervous, and . . . happy? Ecstatic. I realize I'm desperate to see him. Frantic to have him in my arms. It's been _two years. _I've waited for much too long.

* * *

I fly through the house. Run to Effie Trinket's. She'll be driving me. She's the only one that could afford an automobile in our little town. And the glitzy American likes me, heaven knows why; I haven't been good company as of late.

"Kat!" She trills, prancing up to me. Her fashionable bob bounces with each step. She's gotten a new fur coat. "You look positively sublime!" She embraces me tightly; the smell of her perfume is choking me.

"Hello Effie." I smile at her. A real smile. She tries to hide her little gasp by talking. But her eyes are wide and when she glances at me, I can feel her astonishment. I suppose I haven't smiled like that since before the war started. And even then . . .

"Kat, I really don't know where you've been hiding that little dress. It's the _exact _color of Portia's new line – Portia is my friend in the states, you do remember? She was the clothes designer?" Effie swings around into her automobile, continuously talking, talking, _talking._

Sometimes Effie is a little trying and _loud,_ but she is a dear friend to stay with me this long, especially recently. Effie isn't one to give up on anyone.

We pick up two other women. Delly Cartwright. I had not realized she had a sweetheart and I see no ring. Maybe she's here for moral support. She's a very nice person, but a little shy, especially around Effie.

"Hiya toots! Don't you look like little porcelain doll?" Delly raises her eyebrows in confusion as she slides into the back seat. Delly is more on the homely side. I see her warily eyeing Effie for sarcasm or mockery. Effie is ignorant of her scrutiny. I smile at Delly to let her know Effie isn't one to be mean.

"Thank you Effie. That's sweet of you to say." Effie plays it off with a grin and bat of her eyelashes. She slams the gear and we're off.

Delly grips the seat. I'm strangely enjoying Effie's carefree, and somewhat wild, driving.

Next we pick up the butcher's wife, Rooba is her name. She's direct and strong. I respect her. Right now she looks a little shell-shocked. Her hands are gripping her purse with a little too much force. She's small and round, and it takes some time for her to get up the high step to sit in the back with Delly.

We drive to the train station, the next town over. Not a long ways in Effie's automobile. Rooba is quiet. Delly is quiet. I'm quiet. Effie is growing louder. I realize how funny this scene is; three drab silent sparrows washed in colors of blacks, and browns, and grays, and one squawking peacock. I suddenly feel bad for Effie. She's doing as a great kindness, and we're obviously making her uncomfortable with our silence and sobriety. Never mind how nervous _I_ am. I should try a bit. At least that's what . . . _he _would always say.

_In an hour he'll be home. You can see him. You can touch him. He'll be _here.

"Effie? Is that a new fur coat?" Effie raises her thin eyebrows and grins.

"Kat! You noticed! It was _ever_ so expensive. I wasn't really sure on the fur, but winter minx is just such a classic. Portia even told me so herself, 'Effie,' she said. 'Winter minx is a classic.'" Effie needed little encouragement after that.

We arrive a bit late at the station. Effie is commenting on all the coats and shoes and hats she likes. I tune her out.

The station is teeming with people. Everywhere I turn I see embraces, kisses, tears, and smiles. Missing arms. Bandages. Haunted, hollow eyes. Joy and such sadness right next to each other.

But I don't see him. His gleaming blond hair. His steady blue eyes. His safe embrace. Where is he? I take off my gloves so I can start to twist my wedding ring; a nervous habit I picked up. Rooba looks calm, Delly sick to her stomach.

Delly suddenly reaches out and grabs my hand with her sweaty, pudgy ones.

"Kat," She locks eyes with me. She swallows. I try to extract my hand; I don't like people touching me. Her grip tightens. "Kat, I'm scared." She whispers desperately, her breath is moving the little strands of hair that escaped her bun.

I find myself equal parts annoyed and sympathetic towards Delly Cartwright.

Can't she see I'm just as terrified? I pat her hand though, which is a huge kindness from me.

"Me too." I whisper.

* * *

Effie is getting bored. She links her arm with me – entirely too _much touching_, thank you – and starts to babble about the importance of schedules. I watch a man sweep trash into a corner. _Where is he?_

Rooba suddenly makes a choking sound. I notice Effie zeroes in on the drama immediately. Her neck turned so fast, I'm surprised she didn't crack it.

Rooba is oblivious. Her moment of weakness has now been replaced with 'business Rooba'. She strides forward, after one small hesitating step. Her short legs move surprisingly fast. And there is the Butcher.

His face is just as red as I remember, maybe even redder. He's a large man and he somehow retained his little pooch. He's laughing jollily with some other man who's smoking. He has a duffel bag over one shoulder. He doesn't notice Rooba until she's right in front of him.

It's funny, seeing their relationship. She's scowling at him, tapping her small foot. He's trying hard not to grin. There aren't tears, or an embrace, just a stern Rooba leading her husband back home. I find myself smiling.

Effie snorts.

"You'd think she wasn't even happy to see him." She mutters under her breath. No, she's happy, I think. She just shows it differently.

But Rooba's joy is only making me more anxious. Where _is _he? I scan the clumps of soldiers, looking for broad shoulders and a medium height. He'll be with people. He always seems to be with people. People like being around him.

The Butcher strikes up a conversation with Effie. Delly is bouncing up and down next to me. Rooba is still.

* * *

I remember the first time he came home. It was summer and I was hanging sheets on a clothesline. The wind was blowing, but the day was blindingly bright and warm.

I was in the middle of the sheets, enjoying the pretend feeling of being in a cloud. White was everywhere, billowing and gleaming in the sun.

He snuck up on me. He must have learned some trick, because usually he can't be quiet. He couldn't sneak up on me if his life depended on it. Later I supposed his life _did _depend on it now.

I didn't like that.

Anyway, I was humming and distracted. I turned my back and bent over to pick up a basket, when I felt strong arms snake around my waist. I wish I could say I instantly knew it was Peter and I did something romantic. In reality, I screeched and started thrashing around.

He laughed. I gasped and turned to look at my assailant. He leaned in close and said sweetly,

"Hello, Kat."

Now at this point, I'd like to say I fainted with joy, or we kissed, or I did _something _charming. In reality, I swore at him, and shoved him away.

"Don't do that!" I croaked my heart pounding. He only grinned.

"Oh Kat. Not even a kiss for your poor husband." The white sheets billowed behind him. I stared at him; taking in his healthy smile, tanned skin, and hair so blond it almost looked white. My heart quieted. _He's perfect. Not even a scratch. Perfect. _I hid my relief with anger.

"Not if you scare me like that." I snatch the basket I had dropped, and march to the house. His laughter follows me inside.

_He's home._

* * *

When I see him now, everyone else seems to fade. Effie's voice and flamboyant appearance are a smear in the corner of my eye. The bustle is now a hushed murmur. Only he's clear. But all of my muscles are frozen.

_Dear God, _I pray fervently. _Let that be him. _

He grins at something. My stomach drops. A choked noise is wrenched from my body, as emotion starts to bubble up, chasing away my momentary paralysis.

I walk swiftly towards him, not quite running. Effie is calling after me. I don't care.

And then he turns, as if drawn, and looks at me. I can't help it; a sob – maybe even a laugh – escapes my body. I dive into his reaching arms.

It's like my dreams, finally holding him. But this time, it's real. It's real. Real.

* * *

**Ah man. I hope this is okay . . . I hope the emotion is right :/ **

**Please review and tell me what you think! Much appreciated! **

**Have a lovely day :)**


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